Wavering
by arithenay
Summary: Chris and Jill are off looking for Wesker, but Claire has no plans to wait around. She has a score of her own to settle. But when Wesker finds her, all bets are off as Leon and the STARS race to save Claire's life.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The Vanishing

Claire Redfield rolled over in bed and sighed, luxuriating in the sense that for a few minutes, nothing was chasing her, nothing wanted to eat her, and no one needed her help. She always felt this way when she stayed with Chris -- like she'd come home. Safe, protected, warm.

It was one of the reasons she didn't visit very often.

The bright morning light struck her like a slap in the face. Moaning, she rolled over and right off the edge of the bed, landing in a tangle of bedclothes and pillows and legs, holding one hand to her head to calm the repetitive throb telling her she'd had one too many Coronas the night before. She shook her head, a mess of tangled hair falling in her face. Right. Glass of water, shower, clean clothes, face Chris. She could handle it as long as she did it in that order.

But as Claire stood beneath the spray of water, her face tilted back, her eyes closed, she didn't know what she was going to say. Hey Chris, did it never occur to you that you weren't protecting me by taking off and not telling me about it? That the first place I'd look would be Raccoon bloody City, which just so happened to be overrun by zombies? It had been weeks since they'd escaped the Antarctic base, but neither of them had so much as mentioned Claire's wild search for her brother. She wondered how he felt about it -- angry? Scared? Flattered? She had no idea. Chris didn't like to talk about his feelings. That was fine by her, as long as he talked about hers.

She toweled her hair dry and slid into jeans and T-shirt, hoping she wouldn't run into Jill downstairs. It had happened once, and it had been awkward as hell. Chris didn't want his baby sister to know his girlfriend slept over. She shuddered to think what he'd do if he knew some of the places she'd slept.

She stomped noisily down the stairs, giving Jill plenty of time to escape. The kitchen was empty, immaculate as always, and bereft of food. "Nice," she muttered, staring at half a carton of milk (expired two weeks ago), the remains of yesterday's supper (Chinese food and beer), and a few bottles of ketchup (Chris always forgot whether or not he had any and bought more). Disgusted, she slammed the refrigerator door. Only then did she notice the folded piece of paper stuck to the freezer with a bright purple magnet.

Uh oh.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she unfolded the page and began to read.

_Baby Claire,_

_Sorry to do this to you again, little sis. Urgent business. Had to take off in a hurry with Jill. Didn't want to wake you,_

_so left you a note. Shouldn't be more than two weeks -- DO NOT come looking for me. I want to find you right_

_here when I get back._

_Listen to your big brother, stupid face._

_Love ya._

_Chris_

"That bastard!" she exploded, crumpling the paper in her hands. That condescending, self-righteous jerk! Who did he think he was, leaving her a note -- a note! -- ordering her to stay put while he took care of "business" with Jill?

She stormed through the house, deliberately overturning cushions and leaving cupboard doors wide open as she searched for some sign of where Chris might have gone. After everything she'd been through -- after Raccoon City, Antarctica... Steve... she'd earned the right to be treated with some respect!

At last she sank onto the cushionless couch, biting her lip to keep from tears. God knew what might happen to Chris while he ran around on his "business." She should be there. She should...

Slowly, she sat up, a look Chris would have recognized on her face -- a look that would have sent him running for cover.

She should call Leon.

He answered on the third ring. "I don't know where they are."

"How'd you know what I was going to say?"

"Sixth sense. Come on, Claire, haven't you had enough of zombies by now? Be grateful you're not out there with them."

She pounced. "I knew you knew something! Out where, Leon? With who?"

He sighed heavily into the phone. "Promise you won't do anything stupid."

"If you answer me within the next thirty seconds, I promise I won't come over there and kick your butt."

"Claire..." He tried to sound firm, but wound up laughing. "All right. I know you'll get it out of me, so I might as well tell you. The STARS had a tip that Wesker is after a virus sample at an Umbrella base somewhere up north."

"Up north? Where up north? Canada up north? Greenland up north? Arctic up north?"

"I swear, that's all I know -- and I only know that because I talked to Barry before he left. I'm as out of the loop with them as you are, Claire."

Her eyes narrowed. "I have my own score to settle with Wesker, you know." Besides -- it was just possible that Steve was still alive. And if he was, she'd find him when she found Wesker.

She wasn't in love with Steve, never had been -- but he was a good friend, someone who had risked his life time and again for her, had overcome a horrible past to protect her. How could she abandon him now?

"Claire," Leon was saying loudly. "Claire, are you listening to me?"

"No, I'm not. Sorry. Want to go Umbrella hunting with me?"

"What?" he exploded so loudly she held the phone away from her ear. "NO, Claire. That's what I was just saying! God! Why can't you...?"

She derived a certain amount of satisfaction from banging the phone down on him. She liked Leon -- a lot, if she was honest -- more every day. But she wasn't going to take this kind of crap. If he didn't want to help her find Steve, she'd find him on her own.

Settling herself at Chris' computer, she logged into his email on the fourth try. Chris was so predictable. When "glock," "magnum," and "Claire" failed, she plugged in "Jill" and gained access. A momentary surge of annoyance interrupted her -- why the hell had JILL supplanted her as Chris' password? -- but then she was skimming his inbox.

Nothing. She checked the trash folder -- nothing again. Crossing her fingers, she recovered the deleted files.

Jackpot. "Arctic," she muttered, jotting down the coordinates on a scrap of paper. Lovely. More snow.

Now she just had to figure out how she was going to get there. "But I'm coming for you, Steve," she whispered, staring at the piece of paper in her hands. "I'm coming for you, and I'm coming for Wesker."

"No need," said a hard, flat, smooth voice from behind her. "I'm already here."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Revelation

"Earth to Chris." Jill snapped her fingers in front of his face. "You wanna pay a little bit of attention, please? Before something comes along and bites your fingers off?"

"Something what?" Chris shook his head in disgust. He balled his hands into fists and rested them on the metal railing, leaning over to stare into the dark space stretching far below. "There's nothing here, Jill. This base has been abandoned for years."

"Haven't they all?"

"Yeah, but this one is really abandoned -- not infested with flesh eating freaks."

"My, you do have a way with words." Barry Burton drew up behind them, making them jump. For a big man, he could move with incredible speed and stealth. "But I tend to agree. There's nothing here."

"That makes _sense_, though," Jill protested angrily. Chris could tell she was anxious to find something, anything at all. He thought she would even be happier if the place was crawling with zombies. "If Wesker's after a virus, this would be the perfect place. Leftover... research or something, right?" Both men stared at her pityingly, which only fueled her anger. "Damn it, Chris, if there's nothing here, why did we come? Why'd Lazarus send us that email? Why?"

Barry bit his bottom lip thoughtfully. "How sure are we that Lazarus sent the email at all?"

A shocked silence followed. "You mean..." Chris stared at him, brow furling as he worked through the significance of Barry's words. "You mean someone lured us here? Why?"

"To get us out of the way, presumably."

"Wekser?" Jill asked softly.

"Likely. He'd certainly know our email addresses. And he knows about Lazarus. Remember, he's one of our old STARS contacts."

Jill blanched, grabbing onto Chris' arm for support. "We have to get in touch with Lazarus as soon as possible."

"Calm down, Jill. Just because Wesker used his tag doesn't mean he..."

"This is Lazarus we're talking about, Barry! Our resident computer genius! If Wesker used his tag, Lazarus knows."

"Which means Lazarus could be in trouble," Chris finished grimly. "She's right. We have to find him."

Barry raised his magnum in acquiescence. "At any rate, we're not accomplishing much here. Let's get back to the jet and get moving." His brow darkened as he tucked the gun into its holster. "We've been duped, children. And I don't like it one bit."

They strode through the echoing base, each of them taut and nervous, long habit preparing them for some hideous thing to jump out of the shadows. Chris' fingers twitched. He felt strange wandering an Umbrella base without a weapon drawn, but there was no way he was going to carry his gun around in front of Jill when she hadn't touched hers. "How sure are we that Wesker's behind this?" he asked just to fill the silence.

"Who else?" Barry replied grimly, hoisting himself into an air shaft. He turned and reached down for Jill.

"Lots of people." Chris leaned against the railing, enjoying the view as Jill scrambled up the wall, Barry's hand firmly around her wrist. "Anyone from Umbrella, for one."

"They don't care about us." Jill grunted as she clambered into the shaft, moving behind Barry so he could give Chris a hand. "Not unless we're actively irritating them. Wesker, on the other hand, has a personal grudge. You know how it is. We dared to let him betray us and all, and then we had the nerve to survive his little freak show."

Chris muttered something indecipherable as he scrambled into the shaft behind them. Jill twisted awkwardly in the cramped space and led them back the way they'd come, crawling as fast as she could. The metal shaft squeaked and groaned with her every movement -- or rather, with every movement of the men behind her. She kept straining to see into the darkness ahead, half-expecting to stumble over a dead body -- or one that had come back to life. She longed for the comforting weight of her gun, but there was no way in hell she was going to draw a weapon when Chris hadn't. "The thing is," she called over her shoulder, just to distract herself, "assuming it is Wesker, why'd he do it? If he wanted to lure us up here, mission accomplished. Why isn't he waiting to blast us into space or something?"

"Maybe that's not what he had in mind." Barry cursed softly as his head struck a piece of exposed metal. "Maybe he wanted us out of the way."

"Why? I mean, but it's really Chris he's after, isn't it? The rest of us he just hates on principal."

"Thanks, Jill." Chris drew a deep breath. As much as he hated to admit it, a few lingering traces of claustrophobia still struck him at inopportune moments -- such as this one.

"No offense. It's actually kind of a compliment."

He was forced to laugh. "What? I said thank you." His amusement faded as quickly as it had risen. "You're right, though. Why'd he send us on this wild goose chase? There has to be something we're not seeing."

Jill put on a burst of speed as she caught a glimmer of light ahead. "Well, think it through. What's Wesker after?"

"He's after Chris," Barry replied. He caught up to Jill and took her arm, lowering her through the other end of the shaft.

"Not exactly." Jill's flailing feet caught the rung of a ladder, and she nodded up at Barry. "Or he'd be here. And he wouldn't have bothered with the rest of us."

The two men landed heavily beside her. Jill rubbed her hands through her hair as they started back to the jet. Catching up with her, Chris offered her a wry smile. "He doesn't just want me dead, Jill. He wants to hurt me as much as..." All at once, he stopped. Jill and Barry turned to look at him. Standing frozen in the middle of the hall, the blood drained from his face, his eyes wide and mean, Chris stared back. "He wants to hurt me as much as possible," he rasped.

"So what does that mean?" Barry demanded.

Jill met Chris' eyes and felt her own heart skip a beat. "Claire."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Intelligence Quotient

Claire opened her eyes and promptly closed them again. She had a splitting headache, her right arm hurt, and the second light touched her eyes, they began to water. But that wasn't why she closed them.

She'd been hoping it was all a dream. Maybe it was. Maybe she was still asleep, and if she stayed very, very still, she would open her eyes in her bedroom at Chris' house, and she could start this whole stupid day all over again... If only it could be a dream.

"There's no point feigning sleep, Miss Redfield."

Or a nightmare.

She opened her eyes, blinking at the light, quickly realizing that the reason her arm hurt was that her wrist had been cuffed to a railing slightly above the level of her shoulder. She dragged herself to a sitting position, taking in the large room, the upper level dominated by computer equipment, the lower level three stairs down containing a bed, a table, a desk. Rudimentary living quarters.

She took it all in, from the appalling yellow and gray colour scheme to the concrete floors to the lack of windows, until at last she had no choice but to let her gaze settle on the man dominating it all.

Albert Wesker leaned against one of the consoles, arms folded across his chest, patiently waiting for her to acknowledge his presence. She refused to be the first to speak, although she did haul herself to her feet. "Careful," he remarked as she staggered. "You've been unconscious for quite some time."

She glared at him to cover her fear. A million questions sprang to mind -- What's going on? Why have you brought me here? What are you going to do to me? -- but she was afraid she already knew the answers.

Wesker continued to watch her, not moving, his expression unreadable behind the omnipresent dark glasses. Claire clutched the rail separating her from the lower level, thankful that her recent unconsciousness provided an excuse for her weak knees. Even before she'd met him, Wesker had been larger than life to her. Sometimes it seemed like she'd spent her whole life hearing this man's name spoken in a tone bordering on reverence. Chris, she knew, had worshiped his captain; from what she could gather, they all had.

Until he'd betrayed them.

He laughed softly at her expression. "Really, Miss Redfield, I did anticipate some sort of entertainment. Don't you want to rail at me? Insult me, berate me, that sort of thing?" He flashed her a humourless smile. "I assure you, it won't offend me in the least."

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction," she snapped, relieved to find her voice as steady as could be expected.

"No?" Wesker unfolded himself from the console and crossed toward her. WIthout meaning to, Claire backed against the wall, hating the smug satisfaction written across his face. He stopped when barely an inch separated them. She could see the glint of red behind his glasses, hear her own heart thudding. "You disappoint me, dear heart."

"Get used to it."

He reached out and she flinched. But he only brushed his finger down the side of her cheek before turning and descending the three steps to the lower level. Ignoring her completely, he took a thick book from a shelf, settled himself at the table with his back to her, and began to read.

Slowly, Claire sank back to the floor, every muscle trembling. Wesker. _Wesker_. She would have preferred a thousand zombies creeping through the night, a hundred Tyrants outside her door. What did he have planned this time? What was in store for her?

And more to the point, what was in store for her brother?

---

"I'll kill him I'll kill him I'll kill him. Dead. Dead dead dead. Kill him dead. That son of a bitch. I'll kill him."

Jill was beginning to worry. Chris had been pacing the jet for the better part of an hour now, and he had yet to cease ranting. Barry had started casting concerned glances over his shoulder from the pilot's chair. This also worried Jill, because Barry wasn't much of a pilot to begin with. Chris was best, but he was in no state to fly; anyone was better than Jill. She was more comfortable with a Beretta in her hand than a freaking jet.

"Kill kill kill... that son of a bitch. That _bastard_. I will kill him dead. Dead. Dead.Dead dead dead dead _dead_!"

Jill closed her eyes and massaged her temples. She remembered her last mission with STARS before the disastrous mansion incident. Ironically enough, Chris had been almost this upset then; she couldn't remember over what. It had been Wesker who reprimanded him. "As soon as you lose your cool, you give someone else the upper hand," he'd stated blandly. "Don't waste your energy, Chris. Use it to think and plan."

Somehow, she didn't think he'd take it too kindly if she reminded him of this now. "Chris," she said instead, "why don't you sit down?"

"I'LL KILL HIM."

"Yes, I know," she replied patiently. "I'll help. Now come over here and we'll figure out how to do it."

He hesitated a moment longer before slouching in a seat across the aisle from her. "Sorry," he grunted. "I just... Claire. Damn it, that son of a bitch has my sister!"

"I know," she repeated hurriedly before he could return to his diatribe. "We'll get her back, Chris."

"Anyone considered how?" Barry called from up front. "I mean, I'm just asking. From what Chris said, Wesker's gone and pumped himself full of monster steroids since last time we saw him. And he wasn't exactly a pushover to begin with."

"Not to mention that we don't know where he is."

Chris laughed hollowly. "Don't worry about that. He'll find us. Monitor the channels, and you'll find him soon enough. He's not trying for secrecy." He stared out the window, his jawline taut and angry. "Just get us home, Barry. We're going to need all the help we can get on this one."

And we'll still probably die, Jill added, but silently. She wasn't stupid enough to say it out loud. Reaching across the narrow aisle, she covered one of Chris' hands with her own. He stacked his other hand on top and squeezed, trying to give her a smile. Jill unfastened her seatbelt and slid into his lap, letting him hold her.

If they had to die, at least they'd do it together.

---

How long had it been? Claire felt like she'd crouched there for hours, every muscle screaming in protest. But she was afraid to move. Wesker remained seemingly engrossed in his book. She didn't dare shift, make a sound, in case it drew his attention to her.

Her stomach twisted as she stared at the back of his blonde head, the gloved hands turning pages, the muscled arms covered, as always, in black. She'd met him twice before, and the main thing she remembered was the _helplessness_. Even against the most vicious monster, she could run. She could fight. She could hide. She could try to defend herself, and if all else failed, she could die fighting.

But Wesker... The first time they'd met on the island base, he'd handled her like a rag doll, tossing her aside and nearly crushing her before deciding she wasn't worth his while. The second time -- that had been worse, because she'd known he was planning to use her to get to Chris. Again, he'd shoved her around, treated her like a minor annoyance, and her best attempts at resisting him had met with nothing but a disdainful sneer.

She could handle dying. If she'd died on the island, during any one of a thousand chances, she'd have died satisfied, knowing she'd gone down with a fight, that she'd cost her assailant some pain and effort.

Wesker, on the other hand, could kill her without breaking a sweat -- probably without looking up from his book.

But still she'd gone for him when he mentioned Steve. If Chris hadn't held her back...

You can't be so stupid this time, she told herself furiously. He's after Chris. He's not going to kill you until he has your brother. Keep that in mind.

Her hands still shook. She clenched them into fists and forced herself to breathe normally. Come on, Claire, buck up. You wanted to find Wesker; well, here he is. You wanted to find Steve; well, he knows where Steve is. Really, this is almost going according to plan. After all, what's the worst he can do to you?

A cold hand seized her heart, and she quickly stopped herself from answering that question.

Forcing herself to exhibit a calm she didn't feel, she drew herself to a standing position.

Wesker twisted in his chair to glance at her. "Something I can do for you, Miss Redfield?"

She had to show him she wasn't afraid, that she saw him as nothing more than human. "Isn't it hard to read in the dark like that? Especially with those glasses."

"Ah." He rose to his feet and ascended the stairs with slow, measured steps. This time, she forced herself to stand her ground. When he was right in front of her, he reached up and revealed flaming red eyes. They bore into her, making her heart beat faster. "You prefer this, then?"

"It was just a question," she managed.

"Indeed? Why the curiosity?" He arched an eyebrow as he replaced his glasses. "You don't really want to ask me about my eyes now, do you?"

Her eyes narrowed, her breath coming in sharp gasps. "Where is Steve?"

He seemed genuinely taken aback. "Steve? Ah, yes, the young man from the island." He waved his hand. "Steve is dead, dear heart. I suggest you forget about him."

"He isn't dead!" she shouted, surprising both of them. "And you damn well know it, since you're the one who took him!"

She didn't see him move. All of a sudden his hand was around her throat and she was pinned to the wall, her own weight driving her flesh into his knuckles as she struggled to breathe. "You may want to watch your tone of voice, Miss Redfield. I don't particularly appreciate insolence." She clawed frantically at his hands, the world swimming before her eyes. He slammed her hard against the wall, but his voice remained as calm as though they were discussing the weather. "Do you understand?"

She nodded, trying to rasp out the word yes. She must have succeeded, because he released her, letting her crumple to a gasping heap at his feet. Hatred and humiliation burned within her, washing away her fear. She embraced them. Steve wasn't dead; he couldn't be dead. She wouldn't believe it. This was _Wesker_; he was lying. It was what he did.

He turned and walked away, bending once more over the console. "I think it's about time we contacted your dear brother, don't you? I'm sure he's frantic with worry -- if he's realized you're missing, that is."

She closed her eyes. He'd have realized, all right. And before long he'd be charging in here with some stupid, reckless plan that was bound to get him and probably a few others killed. Wesker didn't care about her. She was nothing more than a lure, but he'd kill her on principal once he'd disposed of Chris. She prayed her brother realized that. Come on Chris, she thought desperately, trying to stop the tears that threatened to spill over her cheeks. Use your head. Don't take the bait. If he had half a brain, he'd stay far away -- or, if he couldn't do that, at least refuse to play Wesker's game, ignore his calls and come after her on his own terms.

A repetitive chime warned her that Wesker had placed his page, that he was seeking her brother right now. _Don't answer it, Chris_, she pleaded. Surely he could tell it was a trap? He wouldn't be stupid enough to pick up, would he?

A crackle of static displaced the tone. Even from behind, she could tell a genuine smile had spread across Wesker's face. "Chris," he said. "So lovely to see you."

"Wesker," Chris growled, and Claire swore she could hear his IQ drop another few points.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Complication

Wesker's smug, inhuman features filled Chris' laptop screen, making his stomach churn. He couldn't believe how much he'd respected this man, once upon a time. From the time he'd entered STARS, Chris had put his own career advancement on hold, content to work under his coldly efficient Captain. He figured three years with Wesker would teach him more than ten anywhere else.

Well, he'd been right about that.

"What do you want, Wesker?" His tough-guy act sounded phony even to him, but Chris couldn't let it go. It would mean exposing too much of the hurt Wesker had caused him, caused all of them. All of his sarcasm, his anger, his levity, masked the question gnawing at his core: _how_? Not why, because he knew. But how could Wesker have betrayed them all?

Wesker would only laugh if he asked.

He was laughing anyway, that deliberate slow chuckle Chris had grown to hate. "I think the question is what do you want, Chris? And I suspect I have the answer."

"You have my sister, don't you." It wasn't a question.

Wesker inclined his head. "I have your sister."

Chris closed his eyes, wishing for a traditional phone line so Wesker couldn't see his raw terror. He knew it showed right through his every disguise. "I want to talk to her. I want to know she's okay."

"By all means. Miss Redfield?" He stepped out of view, leaving Chris staring at a gray concrete wall. It flickered once or twice -- beggers couldn't be choosers, and they'd been reduced to hacking their own dial up internet connection. But it would do the job.

There was the click of a restraint being released, and then he was looking at Claire, her face pale and frightened, rubbing her right wrist unconsciously. "Hey, Chris," she said in an almost normal tone. "I'm in trouble again."

"Yeah, I got that." He cleared his throat. They were each struggling to be strong for the other. "You okay?" he demanded gruffly. "Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head. "I'm okay. Chris, you need to get away from here. You have to..."

"I think that will do." Wesker seized her elbow and pulled her aside, not hurting her, but hard enough to show both Claire and Chris that he could hurt her if he wanted to. Claire's face vanished and Wesker's reappeared. Chris didn't even have to force anger at the exchange. "There you have it, Chris -- from the horse's mouth, so to speak. She hasn't been badly treated -- yet."

He closed his eyes in defeat. "What do you want, Wesker?"

"What do you think I want, Chris?" Rage suddenly bubbled beneath Wesker's cool, controlled voice, the lurking insanity making itself known. But he managed to restrain it. "I want a reunion with my old friend."

Chris nodded, still without looking at the screen. "When and where?"

"I'll send you coordinates for the switch. You may bring someone -- some_one_, Chris -- to transport her elsewhere. Not that I care how many of you I have to kill, you understand. Perhaps Jill -- or Rebecca. I haven't seen them in quite some time. And since we're reminiscing, how _is_ Barry's family these days?"

His jaw set, Chris simply severed the connection. There was nothing to be gained by further conversation.

The former STARS had comandeered a sleazy motel room near what used to be Raccoon City and were using it as home base. A long silence filled the room, emphasizing the repetitive thudding of the headboard against the wall in the room next door. "He's completely lost it," Barry said at last. "I mean, I knew he was a treacherous, conniving bastard. But he's actually crazy, isn't he."

"He'd have to be, to do what he did," Jill replied. She laid a hand on Chris' shoulder, but he shook it off, unable to see the hurt look on her face. He couldn't bear the distraction. He had to think about his sister.

"Transfer coming in," Barry announced, wheeling his chair over to a computer.

Chris nodded, not bothering to raise his head. His fists shook. Claire was in danger again and it was his bloody fault. It had been his fault she'd come to Raccoon City, his fault she'd wound up on the island base, and now it was his fault she was Wesker's prisoner. It was even his fault Wesker knew she existed, when you came right down to it.

He glanced at Jill and found her chewing on one ragged fingernail, something she only did unconsciously, and only when she was very upset. "You okay?" he asked.

She started. "Chris... why does he hate you so much?"

"Who doesn't he hate?"

"Oh, he hates all of us," she agreed. "But especially you. _Why_?"

Chris could only lift his hands helplessly. "I don't know."

"Damn it!" Barry swore. "I lost the connection. Someone keeps trying to call us."

Chris shot to his feet, Jill forgotten. "Well, figure out who it is and tell them to get off the damn line!" At that moment the phone rang again, and Chris snatched it up himself. "What?" he almost yelled.

"Where the hell is Claire?" snarled the voice on the other end, and Chris almost dropped the phone. As if they didn't have enough problems already...

-----

As he approached, presumably with the intention of cuffing her to the railing again, Claire backed away. A smirk crossed his face. "You wouldn't be trying to run from me, dear heart?"

"Where am I going to run?" she demanded irritably. And it was true -- as far as she could tell, the place didn't even have a door. She changed the subject before she could provoke him further. "Don't you eat anymore, Wesker? Sleep? Drink?"

He paused, his head cocked to one side, and then his features relaxed in comprehension. "As it happens, I don't." In a silent movement she didn't see, he closed the distance between them, one of his huge hands swallowing her wrist. "If you continue to behave yourself, though, I may allow you those privileges." And he dragged her back to the railing and imprisoned her there before she could say another word.

Claire swallowed the retort on her lips as he stared down at her. She knew he would follow through on his threat, and her throat was already swollen, her tongue dry. How long had she been unconscious? How long had she been imprisoned here? She wanted food, she wanted to use the washroom, she wanted rest -- but more than all those things she desperately wanted a glass of water.

Or a small lake. Whichever. And if he didn't provide it soon, she was terrified she'd start begging.

Why the hell didn't he move away? She huddled in the corner, her arms clasped together to keep them from trembling, and he just stood over her, watching her, like some twisted guardian angel.

After another minute she couldn't take it anymore and closed her eyes against him.

She heard his small grunt of satisfaction as he walked away and realized that had been all he wanted, her fear, her surrender. God, she hated him; she hated him with a passion that almost trumped her fear. She had never known another person so completely, utterly _evil_.

But then, he wasn't exactly a person anymore, was he?

Exhausted, Claire sank back to the ground, resting her head against her bent knees. She had no doubt her brother would go through with whatever exchange Wesker demanded, and then Wesker would kill Chris -- slowly, by the sounds of things. She couldn't let that happen. Somehow, she had to remove herself from the equation.

But how?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Desperation

Water had become Claire's driving force.

The more she tried not to think about how thirsty she was, the worse the thirst became. She didn't know how long she'd gone without water. It was impossible to keep track of time in this dimly lit, windowless hellhole, trapped with a man who never ate, never slept. The only reason she knew it had been a relatively short period was that she hadn't died of dehydration.

He glanced at her from one of the consoles, his right leg folded against his left, one hand cocked beneath his chin. She bit her lip to keep from saying anything.

"Something the matter, Miss Redfield?"

She swallowed, her throat spasming at the action. He wanted her to ask, so she'd ask. Now, while she could still salvage some of her pride, while she could resist pleading. "I won't be much use to you if I'm dead," she croaked.

A smile twisted the corner of his lips. Without a word, he crossed the room, descended the stairs, and vanished into the bathroom. She couldn't see him even with the door open, but she heard the cascade of water pooling in the glass. Her stomach lurched. She forced herself to stay still, not to move or hope or even breathe. He hadn't given her anything yet.

He returned, a tall tumbler of the precious liquid in his hand, and leaned against the railing, watching her. She hated him with all her might, hated the cynical amusement in his expression, the way his gloved finger tapped against the glass. She couldn't help staring at the traces of moisture along the glass' side. But still he stood there, waiting for God knew what now, and Claire knew she had to keep her temper under control. She couldn't afford to anger him now.

But still he stood. Still he stared. And she was tired and weak and frightened and absolutely furious. What the hell gave him the right to treat people this way? He already had her in his power; why did he need to drive the fact home by taunting and tormenting her? She knew he would never really let her die; she'd spoken the truth -- he needed her alive to get to Chris. But he'd apparently decided to make her suffer as much as possible in the meantime.

Anger threatened to overwhelm her. She wanted to scream, rage, defy him and his threats and his betrayals. As he finally took a step towards her, she swore under her breath.

He stopped, almost within reach. "What was that, dear heart?"

Staring at the water, she shook her head.

Of course Wesker wouldn't let it go. "What did you say?" he demanded in a voice as hard as steel.

She dragged her gaze away from the glass and to his face. Water, her rational self reminded her. Tell him it was nothing. Tell him you're sorry. Say whatever it takes.

Her rational self looked on in horror as instinct took over. "I said you're a sadistic son of a bitch," she seethed, lunging at him, her movement arrested by the jerk of the handcuffs. He didn't flinch, but he did look surprised -- angry even. Good. He thought he could frighten her, control her, belittle her -- reduce her to a sobbing, quivering wretch? He didn't know Claire Redfield. Her throat sore and raw, she pressed on. "My brother never gave you anything but loyalty! He was your friend, and you betrayed him. And that's why you hate him so much, isn't it, Wesker? Because he's everything you're not -- honourable and loyal and kind. That's what makes him strong, Wesker. And you -- you've taken what humanity you had and thrown it away for a little more power. You're _nothing_, Wesker. Nothing at all. You're the weakest kind of weak, and when Chris finally kills you not a soul is going to care that you're gone"

In the horrible silence that followed, her rational self reasserted itself, screaming every invective it knew. It took all her strength not to cringe at the fury in his gleaming eyes. Too late, she remembered the last time she'd tried to talk to him about Chris. He'd nearly choked her to death before she got ten words out. This time, he'd let her speak, but she instinctively knew he'd make her pay for it.

She was right. The tight lines of his face relaxed, and he offered her a chilling smile. "Why, Miss Redfield. I had no idea you held me in such contempt." He took half a step back and placed the glass of water on the ground. "You're free to hate me -- in fact I prefer it," he continued, his voice growing colder with every word. "But you won't forget who's in control. _Weak_, Miss Redfield? You call _me_ weak? I think you'll learn differently in time."

Without another word he walked away. Although she knew it was what he expected, Claire couldn't resist lunging for the water, stretching as far as she dared without dislocating her shoulder. Her fingers came within an inch of the glass, but she couldn't reach. Tears welled up, but she choked them back; they'd only make her thirstier. It took every ounce of willpower to force herself back into her corner and close her eyes. She wouldn't give him the entertainment of straining for an unreachable glass like some Greek myth, wouldn't play his twisted game.

But God, why hadn't she kept her mouth shut?

-----

Chris closed the balcony door behind him, leaving Barry and Jill in peace as he took a precious moment to collect himself and reflect. He'd promised to call Leon back on his cell phone, and knew he had to do it before Leon interrupted another download. And exactly how the hell had Leon found them anyway? Not that Chris minded involving the younger man -- he'd helped Claire in Raccoon City, for which Chris was grateful, and by all accounts he was a hell of a man to have at your back. But he'd wanted to recruit assistance in his time, on his terms.

Drawing another breath, he leaned against the railing and punched in Leon's number, staring down at the cars navigating the city streets. It was dusk. Headlights and streetlights were on, but the sun hadn't yet disappeared; everything looked so normal -- and yet the gaping crater that had once been Raccoon City, where thousands had died in the most horrible ways imaginable, was only a few miles away.

Leon answered immediately. "Where is she, Chris?"

"What exactly do you know about all this?"

"Damn it, I asked you a question!"

"So did I!" Chris bellowed, abruptly losing his temper. He kicked the thick concrete barricade separating him from a twelve story plunge to the streets, cursing at the pain that lanced up his foot. "And since it's my sister we're talking about, I'll be getting my answers first!"

A long silence ensued. At last, with a heavy sigh, Leon relented. "She called me yesterday morning wanting to know where you were. She wasn't happy."

"She was coming after me?"

"Planning to, yeah. She wanted me to come with her. I refused, obviously, and she hung up on me. I gave her a few minutes to calm down and tried to call back, but she didn't pick up. I didn't think anything of it at first; I assumed if she was serious about leaving she'd call again and give me another try. But this morning, when I still hadn't heard from her, I thought I'd better check things out. I, uh..." He cleared his throat loudly. "Well, I broke into your house. Through a back window. Sorry."

Chris shook his head. "Go on," he grunted. A broken window was the least of his worries.

"I thought that if Claire had gone after you, she'd at least have left you a note. But instead I found another broken window upstairs, and some overturned furniture in the office -- nothing serious, but enough that I knew she'd been attacked. I spent the rest of the day searching for you." Leon drew in a breath of his own. "So now you answer me, Chris. Where the hell is your sister?"

"Wesker has her."

"What?" Leon exploded. He'd never met Wesker in person, but he'd had enough indirect experience with the man to know that he was trouble. "Where? Why? How the hell could you let this happen?"

"Don't you start that shit, Kennedy. You're the one who was almost next door when it happened."

"I'm not the one who took off and left her alone!"

Chris' anger faded abruptly. After all, Leon was right. "He wants me, not her," he sighed, leaning once more against the railing. The last rays of sun vanished from the horizon, plunging the balcony into shadow. "And I'm going after her. You want to help?"

"What do you think?"

Chris gave him the name and location of the motel, as well as the room number. "Be quick about it."

He didn't move after breaking the connection, not even when he heard the balcony door sliding behind him. Jill leaned next to him, folding her elbows, almost but not quite touching his arm. "Leon okay?"

"Worried. He's on his way."

"That's good, Chris. We're going to need him." She let another moment pass in silence. "Barry has the coordinates. It's actually relatively close by."

"Good. Then we can move in the morning."

Jill closed her eyes. "I don't know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he growled, spinning to face her.

She resisted the urge to respond in kind. "I'm not saying we shouldn't go after her, Chris. God knows I wouldn't say that -- and so do you, if you think about it. But we can't rush into this half-cocked. We have to plan every move, know exactly what we're doing, and we have to remember that Wesker knows us inside out. Planning something like this takes time."

"Jill, with every second that passes, that maniac could be doing God knows what to my baby sister! You know what that's like, Jill? Having someone you love in danger?"

"Strangely enough, I do," she almost shouted before she brought herself under control. "Damn it, Chris, I want her back too! But we're not going to accomplish anything if we get ourselves killed! Who's going to help Claire then, huh?"

He shook his head in disgust. "I didn't think I'd hear this kind of whining from you. What are you, the new STARS Chickenheart? Taking Vickers' place?"

"I'm preaching common sense, not running away."

"All I know is that Claire's in danger, and you're telling me to slow down, think things through, write pretty little notes and maybe computerize our plan, submit it for government approval!"

"I didn't say anything about computers." The joke fell flat under his furious glare. "Come on, Chris, you're not being fair and you know it."

"I never said I was. I can't be fair where Claire's concerned. And I expected you, of all people, to understand that. I expected a little support, Jill. But never mind. You stay out here and watch the sunset and daydream up a way to help us, okay? And if you decide y ou're ready to do something useful, well, I'll be inside." He spun and stormed back to the room, ignoring Jill when she called his name, slamming the door behind him.

Great, that went well, she thought, slumping, exhausted, against the rail. Barry and Chris were all for charging in there with guns a-blazing and playing Indiana Jones. They were making the same mistake many people made -- focusing so completely on Wesker's transformation, his inhuman strength and speed, that they forgot about the man himself. Jill, on the other hand, had never lost sight of the fact they were dealing with someone who was a, crazy, and b, a genius. The man was an accomplished scientist, marksman, fighter. He had a Ph.D. in biochemistry and an uncanny knack of reading other people -- and this was all before he went and injected himself with the virus. Chris and Barry thought they could outwit Wesker with two minutes of planning. Jill knew they needed more like two months.

She also knew they didn't have two months, because Chris was right -- God knew what Wesker was doing to Claire. And God help her if he decided to use her to torment Chris. Would he? Jill honestly didn't know. She didn't know what he was capable of anymore. Shuddering, she remembered the mansion, remembered Chris running off to check out the gunshot -- remembered a guilty, cowardly feeling of relief that she didn't have to go with him, but could wait in the hall with the captain. She'd never seen the blow coming. And when she'd opened her eyes and realized who had locked her away, it had taken every ounce of self-control she possessed not to break into tears.

But Wesker hadn't killed her, and he hadn't used her in his sick experiments. He'd left her locked in that cell where she would have died if Chris hadn't found her... Why?

Jill had always thought she knew Wesker better than most in the old days, not that that was saying much. She'd liked him, his smooth, efficient way of moving, his terse but intelligent comments. She'd even had a drink with him one night after a stakeout -- nothing romantic, just co-workers burning off steam. He'd been an interesting, if impersonal, conversationalist, limiting himself to a single beer before driving her home.

Yes, she'd liked Wesker. In fact, she'd been offered several opportunities for advancement within the department during her stint with STARS, and she'd turned them all down -- just as she knew Chris had. She'd loved STARS, loved the tight-knit efficiency of a team whose members knew what the others would do without asking. She'd loved the challenge of late night phone calls rousing her from a much needed sleep to don a kevlar vest and rush into the field. She'd loved working under Wesker's organized, discliplined command. She had sacrificed everything -- her career, her personal life, even several relationships -- to Wesker and STARS.

And what, she wondered, did she have now?

She turned her face into the cool evening breeze and sighed heavily. She'd better get in there before Chris and Barry concocted some idiotic plan and expected her to take part in it. Maybe if she was tactful enough, she could get them to use their brains.

But the heavy crash from behind her told her she might already be too late.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Capitulation

Leon Kennedy lounged in a chair and tried to look like he belonged there. The three STARS huddled around the computer, arguing quietly and pointing to various locations on the map before them.

He supposed he shouldn't have punched Chris. He hadn't been planning on it. Sure, he'd been angry, wished the guy would occassionally spare a thought for his sister before chasing after every zombie rumor on the planet. But the final straw had been the derisive look Chris gave him, as though Leon wasn't worth his time -- when Leon had spent the last twenty four hours frantically exhausting every resource to find and get to Chris Redfield, to help him find his sister.

So he'd punched him. And Chris, of course, had hit back.

Aside from a swollen jaw (Chris), a black eye (Leon), and a shattered chair, nothing remained of the battle. It had been short and sweet, Barry having hauled them apart almost immediately. They'd even shaken hands afterwards.

And then the STARS had promptly forgotten Leon even existed.

He hated working with Jill Valentine, almost as much as he hated working with Chris Redfield. Barry he had less of a problem with -- they'd worked together before; Barry sometimes did some freelance consulting for the government, and he'd been called in on one of Leon's assignments. But the other two...

It wasn't that he hated the STARS. He respected them, even liked them in a general sort of way. But they always managed to make him feel like an outsider. Especially now, when Claire Redfield was involved. Chris had gone to great lengths to make it clear to Leon that he didn't approve of him. In fact, he'd actually called him up one day and politely explained what he would do to Leon if he caught him with his sister. Leon wasn't particularly concerned -- he had no doubt he and the other man were, at least, evenly matched; besides, Chris was something of a blowhard. All Leon had to do was threaten to tell Claire about that phone call and Chris folded like a hand of poker. But he didn't like the idea of driving a wedge between Claire and her brother.

And then there was Ada, and that was a whole other kettle of fish.Well, not fish, he reflected wryly. If you were dealing with Ada Wong, you were probably facing a kettle of mutated toads or electric eels or something.

All at once he became conscious of the other three staring at him. Quickly, he swung his feet to the floor. "Sorry," he muttered. "What was that?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "I asked if you could use a sniper rifle worth a damn."

"Yeah, but it's not going to do a lick of good against Wesker." Chris bristled, but Leon pushed on. "We have pretty thorough files on him, you know. He can't be killed by bullets. I'm not sure he can be killed at all."

"We're not trying to kill him. We're trying to take him out of commission long enough to get my sister and get the hell out!"

Jill rolled her eyes behind Chris' back, and Leon had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. He shrugged instead. "Whatever you say. It's your plan; I'm just along for the ride. If you give me a rifle, I'll put a bullet in him."

Chris nodded his acknowledgement. "We'll have to do the best we can. Barry, what time did Wesker say?"

They'd been over it a hundred times, but Chris wanted the confirmation. He wanted to do something, anything, to feel like he was helping his sister. Knowing that, Barry replied, "Eight tomorrow night."

"Eight tomorrow. What do we do until then?"

Jill gaped at him in disbelief. "Are you nuts? We round up a small arsenal, try to sleep, and pray that a small meteor strikes Wesker and somehow misses Claire."

Leon shook his head and eased to his feet. "Give me a list of what you need for weaponry. I'll track it down."

"Thanks." Barry grabbed a piece of paper and began jotting a list in his indecipherable scrawl.

A weight seemed to have lifted from Chris' shoulders. Men of action, Leon mused, were all the same -- even he felt better now that he had something to do. But Chris more than most nearly developed dual personalities -- the harsh, nervous, angry man melding into the cheerful soldier once he had a battle plan.

Case in point, Leon thought, watching Chris snake his arm around Jill's waist with a grin and a wink. "Well, Detective Valentine? Should we do some of that... praying you mentioned?"

Jill shoved him aside, trying to be angry but unable to stop the smile playing on her lips. "Keep your thoughts on your sister."

"Oh, they are," he assured her, leaning in to steal a kiss. "Mostly, anyway. But if we're going to die tomorrow, you know, it would be a shame not to..."

"Chris!" Jill shrieked as he bit her earlobe. She blushed furiously and shoved him away.

Leon and Barry glanced at one another, rolled their eyes, and as one, left the room without another word.

-----

There was no help for it. It took all of her energy to raise her head, and force her lips to curve around the word. "Wesker."

Slowly, he crossed the room and crouched in front of her. "Yes, dear heart?"

"I'm sorry," she rasped, closing her eyes against the humiliation.

But he had to make her suffer. "For what?"

She moaned inwardly, but she didn't dare provoke him again. "For what I said. For mentioning my brother." He caught her under the chin, forcing her to meet his eyes, and remained silent. Claire trembled against his hand. "Please," she whispered. "Please give me the water."

Smug triumph suffused his features, but she didn't care about anything except the fact that his free hand was slowly reaching for the glass of water. She forced herself not to react. Probably he meant to torment her further, and she knew she couldn't take it, knew she was about to break.

But to her surprise, he brought the glass to her lips and let her sip. Her throat clenched reflexively, and she couldn't stifle a sound of protest when he pulled it away. "Easy," he soothed, bringing the glass back to her lips. "You'll make yourself ill."

She didn't have the will to argue. Slowly, he fed her the entire glass of water, the welcome liquid rush soothing her dry throat, her cramping stomach.

But as the thirst eased her humiliation increased, and she realized that even if she escaped this madman, even if she lived to be a hundred and five, she would never forget this moment. He'd left a mark on her, a mark she'd bear to her dying day whether he killed her brother or not.

He'd accomplished his goal.

Wesker strode away, leaving her in an agony of barely fulfilled thirst. He returned almost immediately with a bottle of water and a protein bar, both of which he dropped in her lap. Hesitantly, every moment expecting him to snatch them away, she twisted the cap free and gulped half the water in a single swallow before tearing into the food.

Wesker reached across her, ignoring her flinch, and released the cuff around her wrist. Startled, she looked up. He paused, his face inches from hers, their eyes locked. "You're free to move around," he told her softly, his breath trailing across her skin. "But please remember, Miss Redfield, that this is a privilege and can easily be revoked. Don't do anything stupid."

She could only nod. He moved away, letting her finish her meager meal in peace. Why, she wondered, had he released her? Had he grown bored of his game?

Or did he think her so cowed she wouldn't dare try anything?

Slowly she leaned forward, stretching her cramped legs. She prayed it was the latter. She needed him to distracted; she needed him to think she'd totally succumbed.

Because that was the only way he'd let his guard down long enough for her to escape.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Code Red

Claire clutched a blanket beneath her chest, shivering in a corner of the bed. Wesker seemed to be ignoring her, but she didn't dare move around too much. If she annoyed him, she had no doubt she'd find herself chained to the railing again, probably with a few new bruises to boot. And she was overwhelmingly relieved to be free. To use the washroom as necessary, drink a glass of water, take a protein bar (apparently his only food) when she was hungry. Small freedoms she'd always taken for granted rendered precious by novelty.

She watched him work at a monitor in the far corner. What did he find to occupy himself for hours on end? In all the time they'd been here, she'd yet to see him interact with another person. Aside from his brief communication with Chris, he hadn't even conversed with another person -- his commands to Claire had been terse, hard, cold, and hardly conversational. She closed her eyes against the sheer harsh loneliness of his... what? Room? Lab? Bomb shelter? She had no way of telling.

All at once he stood, stretched, and stalked toward her. Claire shrank into the corner. She hadn't asked to use the bed; exhaustion overwhelming her, she'd simply curled up and tried to nap. All at once she was certain he'd grab her throat and yank her to her feet.

But Wesker didn't even glance at her. He walked straight to the cupboard, removed a protein bar, and tore it open. Her surprise must have registered, because he glanced at her and arched an eyebrow. Taking that as invitation, Claire said, "I thought you didn't eat anymore."

"A figure of speech, I suppose. I eat, but rarely."

"Oh," she whispered, not sure how to respond. Had Wesker given her a fairly civil answer to an almost invited question? Or was this some new trick designed to expose and demean her?

But he didn't follow up, simply grabbed a bottle of water and a thick book from the shelf. Claire couldn't stop watching him. She knew she was supposed to be plotting her escape, but somehow Wesker's controlled movements arrested her. In fact, the word control described him perfectly. He lent the simplest acts a sort of grace and agility, treating every movement like a karate _kata_.

He caught her watching again. "Is there something I can do for you, Miss Redfield?" he asked, his voice not at all threatening, almost pleasant -- impersonally so, like a clerk at a shop.

"You could let me go," she said before she could stop herself, and winced, tensing in expectation of an attack.

But to her surprise he almost smiled. "Not a chance."

And then an ear-shattering alarm split the silence. Claire's heart leaped into her throat, stifling her scream of surprise; even Wesker started slightly. "Well," he said wryly. "That can't be good." In the blink of an eye he'd returned to his work station, leaning over the monitor and stabbing at buttons. The shrill alarm, mercifully, faded.

Slowly, Claire unfolded herself from the bed and climbed the steps separating them. She wasn't sure what to make of the Wesker she'd seen over the last few moments -- a glimpse, perhaps, of the Wesker Chris had respected so completely? Only that gave her the courage to ask, "What's going on?"

"Biohazard alert," he replied shortly.

"Bio -- are we in an Umbrella base?"

"Beneath one, yes."

Claire stared at his back. "I thought you worked on your own."

"Perhaps I should say, a former Umbrella base. Damn," he swore softly. She drew another step closer as he snatched a headset and slid it over his ears. "Ada, Yuki, respond immediately."

Someone must have answered. Wesker listened intently, his expression unreadable. Claire continued to advance until she was almost close enough to touch him. "_Hai, wakatta_," he snapped in what Claire thought was Japanese. "_Itsu kara?_" He paused again, listening, and then unleashed a torrent of indecipherable speech. "_Hai,"_ he repeated a moment later. "_Ima doko? So... Hai hai... _OK._ Hyakute._" He tore the headset free and swore loudly, banging his fist into the console. Claire leaped back a step, drawing his attention; he stared at her as though he'd forgotten her.

Chris' Wesker had vanished. It was her grim captor who smirked at her now. "Well, Miss Redfield, it seems my rendezvous with your brother will have to be postponed yet again -- or at least altered."

The chill racing through her had nothing to do with the cold. "What do you mean?" she demanded, chasing him as he crossed to a cupboard and began rifling through it.

"Unfortunately the outbreak is not containable. I've evacuated my staff." He clicked a round into a .9 mm and tucked it into his belt. "You, however, are coming with me."

A chill raced through her. "What do you mean? Coming where?"

"I have a sample to retrieve, Miss Redfield. I don't dare send any of my people after it -- not one of them would make it alive."

"Oh God." She closed her eyes, a dozen memories assaulting her -- zombies, vicious dogs, creatures too horrible to be imagined. "Those creatures are loose out there, aren't they?"

"Which creatures?"

"Any of them!" she nearly shouted, not giving a damn if she annoyed him or not.

"There are a number of creatures loose in the base, Miss Redfield. Some of them I imagine you have encountered before; others, you have not."

He rushed down the steps, Claire hot on his heels. "You've got to be kidding! Aren't there, like, procedures for this kind of stuff? How is it possible for one company to have so many damn accidents?"

"I'm no longer associated with Umbrella, so technically it's two companies -- although I'm not technically that either. And when you're dealing with genetically altered creatures the likes of which we've never seen before, accidents are not only likely but probable." He kicked over the table and yanked the mat aside to reveal a tightly sealed hatch set into the ground. He grabbed the wheel and twisted hard; with a squeal, it spun free. "Move," he commanded, gesturing towards the ladder descending into a shadowy darkness interrupted only by the rhythmic pulse of a red light.

Shaking her head, Claire backed up. She'd barely taken a step before a gust of wind brushed her cheek and Wesker's hand clamped tightly over her wrist. Ignoring her attempts to resist, he dragged her along with him. "Wait!" she cried. "Give me a gun!"

"You have to be kidding."

She hovered on the verge of the hatch. "I will do anything you tell me, I swear. I won't turn the gun on you. Chris said it wouldn't kill you anyway, so you have nothing to worry about. But you can't make me go down there defenseless!" She didn't have to fake the tremor in her voice, nor the tears filling her eyes.

Wesker sighed heavily. "Miss Redfield, I assure you, you're far safer with me than you are with a gun. I won't let any harm come to you -- as you so cleverly pointed out, I need you alive. If I give you a weapon, you may begin to think you can survive without me, and I can't have that." His eyes glinted at her through his glasses, his arms taut and fists tight. "One thing your dear brother may not have told you is that I don't like repeating my orders. If you haven't descended this ladder in five seconds, I'll throw you down and pick up the pieces at the bottom. Now move."

Without a weapon? She'd be helpless, completely dependent on him. But she didn't dare call his bluff. Drawing a breath, she crossed to his side and preceded him down the ladder as he directed.

He has a gun, she reminded herself as she climbed into the shadows, her footsteps echoing with dull metallic clangs. If something happens to him, if you're left defenseless... Well, you know what to do.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Revelation

Claire stumbled along in Wesker's wake, his hand tight around her wrist. Whenever she paused, he yanked her forward. Her wrist was beginning to throb, but she didn't care about that. She was far more concerned with controlling the fear and anger surging through her, almost blinding her in their intensity.

The fear was expected. Even if she'd been armed, there was something uncanny about wandering the deserted lab, the blinking red lights the only illumination. In this case experience did not bring a sense of security -- she would have prefered not knowing what might lurk in the darkness. She hated the feeling of utter helplessness threatening to overwhelm her, and she hated the silence. Every second she expected something to leap from the shadows.

But at least as powerful as the fear was the anger. In leaving her prison behind, she seemed to have left some of her forced submission; ironically, even though she was now totally dependent on Wesker, some of his power had faded. She glared at him in sullen fury as he tugged her along. She was getting very tired of being pushed, hit, ordered, and dragged.

Wesker stopped abruptly, swinging an arm across her chest. "What?" she demanded.

"Shut up." He stepped forward, footsteps echoing, and listened.

Claire leaned against the wall and sighed. They were in a long, empty hall with a number of doors leading off either side. She could already tell that, like all the other Umbrella labs, this one was a maze of inconvenient spirals and random dead ends. At least she didn't have to navigate this one on her own. That was one advantage, if she could call it that, of traveling in Wesker's wake.

She watched him lean around the corner, his head cocked to one side, and briefly contemplated running in the other direction. As quickly as the thought entered her mind, however, she abandoned it, remembering his prenatural speed the other times she'd encountered him.

None of which he was exercising now. "What's the hold up?" she demanded.

Wesker turned to snarl something in her direction, but before he could speak, a dark figure hurdled around the corner. Just in time Wesker dove and dodged, the hunter flying over his head with claws extended. Claire, now in the monster's direct line of vision, screamed. It gave a piercing shriek and charged; she dropped to a crouch, clasping her hands over her head.

Wesker leaped between them, a hunting knife suddenly flashing in his hand. Claire barely saw what happened. One moment the hunter was lunging for her, the next it lay on the floor, blood spilling from its slashed throat. Wesker glared down at her, and she realized in disgust that she was cowering at his feet. She shot to her feet and glared right back, hands on her hips.

To hell with him. How dare he put her through this nightmare again? "Well, that was fun. You still think I don't need a weapon?"

Again she didn't see him move, only felt his hand crack against her cheek. The force of the blow sent her sprawling to the floor, her hands skidding in hunter blood as she strove to break her fall. Before she could react Wesker's foot clamped down on her shoulder -- not as hard as at their first meeting, when she'd feared he would shatter bones -- but hard enough.

"Let me explain something to you, Miss Redfield," he snarled. "We are not partners, nor are we friends, comrades, or associates. You are my prisoner and I... I am the one with the power. Do not make the mistake of thinking that because circumstances have forced me to allow you limited freedom you are any less my captive. I may need you alive, but I have no problem hurting you, and hurting you badly. From this point on, you do exactly as I say when I say it, and you keep that damn mouth of yours shut while you do it. Is that perfectly clear?"

Not trusting herself to speak, Claire nodded. Gradually, Wesker allowed her to rise. She clamped her right hand over her left shoulder, rubbing at the bruised flesh. She stared at him mutely, not daring to open her mouth -- she would either cry or yell, and neither reaction would get her anywhere.

This time he didn't take her wrist, turning and striding away. She hated his unspoken assumption that she would follow -- but she hated it even more that she did.

-----

"Something's wrong."

Chris lunged for the cockpit so fast he nearly toppled Leon. "What's going on?" he demanded, ignoring Leon's cursing behind him.

Barry shook his head and poked at a few buttons. "The place is deserted, Chris. Wesker's not here."

In the cabin, Jill and Leon, both bristling with weapons like some bizarre species of porcupine, dove for the windows. It was true. A long stretch of barren land extended below them. Wesker and Claire were nowhere in sight. "He was supposed to signal us when we came within range," Barry continued. "But I haven't heard a peep since we took off."

"He's late, that's all," Jill soothed before Chris could fly off the handle. "Actually, we're early. There are still ten minutes to go. And it would be just like Wesker to make us wait."

"Yeah, that's it," Chris agreed. But he began pacing the length of the jet with quick, anxious strides, making Jill edgy just watching him.

Leon was shaking his head. "I don't know," he said to Jill very quietly, one eye fixed on Chris. He didn't need another fight with the older man, not now. "Something just feels wrong, you know? You go on enough ops and you start to get a sense for them."

Jill cast him a withering look. "I've been on ops since you were a pimpled high school geek, Kennedy, so don't start lecturing me about instincts. Yeah, I feel it. Chris feels it too, or he wouldn't be pacing like that."

Chastised, Leon withdrew, although something in the set of his jaw made Jill think it might not be a good idea to continue riling him. He spoke thoughtlessly, she counseled herself with a sigh. It wasn't intended as a slight. He's worried about Claire, too.

Very worried, if Jill was any judge of such things.

Chris paced, Leon stewed. Both had murder in their eyes. Making her way forward, she slid into the co-pilot's seat beside Barry. She needed a break from the testosterone flooding the cabin. "Anything?"

"No. Something_ is _wrong here, Jill."

"I know. What do we do if he doesn't show?"

Barry winced visibly. "Restrain Chris."

She smiled in spite of herself. "If Wesker's not here it's for a reason; he didn't just suddenly forget about a meeting with his mrotal enemy. Either he's being a jerk and building tension..."

"Not Wesker's style," Barry interrupted. "The building tension and delay, I mean. The jerk part is bang on."

Jill nodded, agreeing. Wesker was a direct man. He played power games, he liked to watch others sweat -- but he didn't enjoy delays in his own plans. "Like I was saying, or something happened that prevented him from being here. Either way, he'll contact us. I'm sure of that much."

"Mmm," Barry agreed. "As long as he's alive."

Jill winced. That was exactly the sentiment she'd been avoiding. Because if Wesker was dead, there was a good chance Claire was dead too.

Let's be honest, she thought. The odds are a lot better that Claire's dead and Wesker's still going strong. And if _that_ was the case, she didn't want to be anywhere near Chris when he found out.

-----

They made it through another series of corridors with only three more encounters, one with a licker and two with hunters. Claire felt nauseous each time she saw them, but true to his word, Wesker dealt with them quickly and efficiently. She found herself picturing the good this man could do if he wasn't such a selfish, sadistic madman.

They proceeded in silence. Wesker didn't speak a word, and Claire sure wasn't in a hurry to initiate conversation. But all at once he stopped her again, by the same method of extending his arm. She walked into it this time, instinctively curling her fingers around his bicep. Every instinct urged her to demand an explanation, but she resisted. Her cheek still burned and her shoulder still throbbed. The lingering pain was a more effective warning than anything verbal.

But to her surprise, he spoke softly. "I would like you to wait here, Miss Redfield."

She glanced around, startled. It was a corridor like any other. "Where are you going?"

"Through there." He indicated the heavy metal door at the end of the hall. "I won't be long."

"Wait." Panic gave her courage. She tightened her grip on his arm, forcing him to look at her. "You're just leaving me here? What if something happens?"

"I won't be long, Miss Redfield."

"Please leave me the gun, Wesker. Please." She swallowed. "That or take me with you."

He hesitated, glancing her up and down. At that moment a tremendous crash echoed from behind the metal door, followed by a roar that shook the walls. "My God," she whispered. "What's in there?"

Wesker unholstered the gun and extended it to her, holding it by the barrel. "Keep in mind that bullets don't kill me. They just make me angry."

Stunned, Claire accepted the weapon as another monstrous howl rocked the corridor. She realized that if Wesker failed to subdue whatever lay behind that door, the .9mm wasn't going to be of much use. Still, it felt comforting in her hand. "Thanks," she muttered.

"Don't mention it," he replied dryly, withdrawing something from a pocket. At first she thought it was his knife, but as he flipped the protective cover aside, she realized it was an empty syringe. "Around the corner, please, and stay back."

That was one order she was only too willing to obey. Claire complied immediately, certain she didn't want to see what was behind Door Number One. Hunching against the wall, she pressed the gun to her chest, checking to make sure the safety was off. "You're okay," she whispered to herself. "You're okay. Wesker will finish... whatever the hell he's doing, and he'll get you out of here, and he won't kill you because he needs you. And you'll find a way to escape. You're a Redfield. You're okay."

It was dangerously close to babbling. She forced her lips to stop, although the voice continued in her head.

Around the corner, she heard the heavy squeal of the door sliding open and...

Silence.

Slowly, she inched towards the corner, listening for any sign of battle. Nothing.

The silence stretched on, becoming painful, unbearable. What was _happening_ in there? Should she call out? Try to run? God help her, lend a hand?

And then all at once, a crack echoed through the room and Wesker smashed into the wall beside her. "Wesker!" she cried, lunging for him. She barely had time to appreciate the irony -- right now, saving her brother's nemesis, her captor, was her only hope for survival.

He was unhurt, she observed in relief. Shaking his head, he straightened up. "I said around the corner," he growled, and before she could respond, he shoved her roughly aside. She struck the ground and rolled just in time to see four green claws rake the spot she'd been crouching. Slowly, they withdrew, making the horrible sound of nails on a chalkboard.

Wesker grimaced. "So you've grown stronger," he remarked. "Interesting." And then, with a gust of wind and a sharp sound, he vanished. Claire hesitated, knowing from the sounds that a battle was happening right around the corner, but she couldn't bring herself to look. God, what monstrosity had Wesker created this time? And what could possibly be worse than the creatures she'd already faced?

Suddenly she became aware that all had gone silent. Before she had time to think, Wesker rounded the corner and plucked the gun from her hands, replacing it at his waist. He appeared calm and collected, although a streak of blood marred his cheek. As she watched, he brushed it away, and she couldn't see a wound underneath. "Can we leave now?" she whispered.

Wesker inclined his head and retreated around the corner. After a moment, Claire followed.

He was hunched over a motionless creature, green tinged and monstrous, studded in repulsive growths. Wesker caught one of the creature's arms and jammed the syringe through its protective hide. A green-tinged but still red liquid filled the vial.

But Claire wasn't staring because of the blood sample. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she sagged against the wall. "You bastard," she whispered, her voice trembling with sheer, uncontrolled loathing. "You son of a bitch."

Wesker met her eyes. "What's wrong, dear heart? I thought you wanted to see your friend Mr. Burnside." He nodded towards the motionless creature beside him. "Well, here he is. Why don't you enjoy the reunion? It will be all too brief."

And Claire knew she'd have to kill him after all.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Desecration

The silence in the jet grew increasingly oppressive as everyone avoided what needed to be said. Next to Barry, Chris sat with his hands white on his legs, his eyes wild and unfocused. He'd grown increasingly gruff over the last two hours until now he rejected every attempt at conversation, even from Jill. His reticence spread until now all four of the jet's occupants maintained an awkward silence, once watchful, now simply nervous.

At last Barry had to say it. "Chris, he's not going to show."

"Screw that. We aren't going anywhere without my sister."

Barry's face twisted in anger. "Unless we get moving right away, we aren't going anywhere at all. We're running out of fuel here, and I'll be damned if I'm going to crash in the middle of the bloody desert because you're too stubborn to admit defeat."

Jill lunged between the two men, neatly dodging the punch aimed at Barry's face and arresting Chris' wrist in her hand. "Stop it!" she shouted, shoving his arm away before he could tear it free. "You idiot, you're going to punch out our pilot? Brilliant. It's time to listen to reason, Chris! Wesker is not coming! For whatever reason, he just isn't!"

Chris bared his teeth at her and spun on Leon. "You think that too?"

Leon hesitated visibly. "Yeah," he muttered at last, "I do. You know I want Claire back as badly as you, but there's no point running out of fuel up here. If Wesker was coming, he'd be here by now. Period."

Chris actually snarled at him. "Put the plane down," he ordered.

Barry sighed. "Chris..."

"Damn you, put it down!"

Glancing at Jill, Barry shrugged. "I can do it, but I have to do it now."

He was asking her permission, she knew. Great. Jill held her head, knowing that both men would hold her responsible for whatever choice she made -- between the moronic alternatives _they_ had offered.

But when she met Chris' eyes, she understood instinctively that if she said no, he would never speak to her again. And after all, she asked herself, how would _you_ feel if it was Chris down there?

"All right. Let's set down. But Chris, we can't spend all day here, okay? We'll look around and make sure Wesker isn't here, and then we're taking off." She didn't bother mentioning that they were unlikely to see anything on the ground they couldn't from the air. Chris wasn't in the mood to hear it.

He nodded, cooling off somewhat. "That's all I'm asking."

But was it? Jill wondered. Or would she soon find herself forced to choose between getting lost in the blinding desert and punching out the man she loved?

-----

"Miss Redfield..."

"Don't you Miss Redfield me!" Claire shrieked at the top of her lungs. Stumbling back, she raised her hand as though it could somehow ward him off. "Just don't!"

"I fail to see the problem. You were well aware I had Mr. Burnside in my possession; this should be no surprise."

"You told me he was dead!"

"He is dead!" Wesker shouted, taking a step towards her. "That thing lying there is no longer Steve Burnside. It is no longer human!"

"Just like you," she spat.

"That's right, just like me. And like me, it has unimaginable power, which is why you don't want to be here when it wakes up."

Claire folded her arms across her chest and fixed him with her coldest stare. "I'm not going anywhere."

His eyes glinted dangerously. "Perhaps I should leave you to your reunion, then."

"Maybe you should. Steve won't hurt me. I know."

"Miss Redfield, how many times do I have to tell you? That is not Steve Burnside!"

"He wasn't Steve when he saved my life either! He wasn't Steve when he sacrificed himself for me! But Steve was still in there somewhere, and he overcame what Alexia did to him!"

All at once, Wesker's anger evaporated, and he underwent one of his rapid mood changes. "Yes, thirty seconds after transformation," he explained patiently, as if to a child. "But that was some months ago, dear heart. That remnant of humanity is long since vanished. Believe me. I know."

She hesitated, wavering between doubt and acceptance. Could she believe him? Wesker was a liar; she had no doubt about that. But his words confirmed her own worst suspicions -- that Steve really was gone, dead, because _she_ had failed him.

"Regardless," Wesker continued sharply, "I am not going to sit here waiting for this beast to wake up simply to prove it is indeed a beast. This was not part of my plan, and I don't like having my plans interrupted. To put it simply, I'm in a bad mood, Miss Redfield, and your mouth is making it worse. I don't care if you walk out of this plant or if you leave it slung over my shoulder, but we _are_ leaving -- now!"

For a long moment they stood there staring at each other. In that moment a dozen pictures ran through Claire's mind -- all the ways she could possibly attack, stop, or escape Wesker. She imagined herself leaping through air vents, sheltering behind a slowly awakening Steve, landing a punch to the throat.

But as quickly as each approach entered her mind, she eliminated it, because she knew what the inevitable outcome would be.

Still, she couldn't bring herself to meekly hold out her hands, to follow Wesker's lead -- to, in essence, give him blanket permission to treat her and her friends, her _brother_, however he pleased, secure in the knowledge there was nothing she could do about it.

Wesker heaved a sigh. He sealed Steve's blood in a vial, placed it in his pocket, and took a step towards her.

All at once Claire realized it was better to walk than be carried. "All right, I'm coming," she snapped, tears -- whether of grief or fury, she couldn't tell -- spilling over her cheeks. "I'm coming, you son of a bitch. But you'd better hope you're as invincible as you think you are, Wesker. You'd better just hope, because otherwise, I'm going to find a way to kill you."

A slow cold smirk graced his features. "Very impressive, Miss Redfield. Now if you're finished, let's be on our way."

She wiped her arm across her face and glared at him defiantly. After a moment, he took her elbow in his hand. Claire didn't resist, but she gave him a look of such disgust that even Wesker seemed momentarily staggered. Then he jerked hard on her arm, pulling her along in his wake.

Claire hurried to keep up, but she couldn't resist one last look at the thing that had been Steve. Maybe it's better this way, she thought. For him, not me.

None of which changed the fact that Wesker was going to pay for what he'd done. Claire didn't know how, she didn't know when, but she knew she would make him sorry.

That was a promise.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Standoff

They spread across the dessert, the four of them -- Chris in the lead, his teammates slightly behind. Jill shielded her eyes against the glaring sun, momentarily picturing an old Western. They were every inch the noble heroes riding out to meet the villain -- or they would be with cowboy hats. Jill would like a cowboy hat, she thought. Something to replace her old beret. Then she shook her head and forced herself to focus. Drifting throughts, great. She hadn't slept in almost two days -- Chris had seen to that.

She couldn't help noticing that, when it came right down to it, Chris generally made her life a lot more difficult.

He strode out in front of them, trying to project an aura of confidence, trying to make himself feel an optimism he didn't believe. Claire had to be there somewhere, because if she wasn't... God, don't finish that sentence. Please, he prayed silently. Please, please, let her be okay.

Damn it, he'd lost his home, his friends, his job... They couldn't take his sister too. If he got her back -- _when_, he counselled himself, _when_ you get her back -- he was going to lock her in a basement somewhere and hire someone to feed her. He couldn't let her out because she'd find some way to get herself into trouble. Damn it, why'd she have to come to Raccoon City in the first place? Why couldn't she just go to university like normal girls her age?

Because of you, a voice in his head whispered. Because you took off without so much as a goodbye.

Which made it his fault she'd met Leon, too. Chris glared at the younger man, even though he didn't deserve it. Chris _knew_ he didn't deserve it, but that did nothing to dull his anger. He didn't have anything specific against Leon, nothing more than he'd have against any man with the audacity to date his sister. In fact Leon seemed like a pretty good guy -- honourable, level-headed, decently tough but without too much attitude. There was one thing, though, that struck him right off Chris' list of eligible men for his baby sister: he was involved with freaking Umbrella. If Claire _had_ to have a boyfriend, he'd better be someone who could take her away from all this junk, not draw her further into it.

He stood on top of a bluff and placed his hands on his hips, all too aware of the others staring at him. So he was acting like a crazy man. Okay. He knew that. What did they want from him? It was Claire, damn it; it was his sister.

Staring into the sunlight, he could almost believe he saw her.

He blinked. He _did_ see her.

Shit, and Wesker too. "Claire!" he shouted, tearing through the sand.

Claire was already halfway to his side, having had the good sense not to alert Wesker as to her brother's presence. He'd made her climb the ladder ahead of him; as soon as she emerged into the blinding light, she'd seen Chris standing on the bluff, looking the other way. Wesker climbed up behind her and began callibrating the self-destruct system for the lab. Quietly, Claire edged away, making sure Wesker was thoroughly absorbed before breaking into a run.

But then Chris had to open his mouth. A slashing sound warned her she was caught even before Wesker's arm closed around her throat. With no warning, Claire slammed into him at full force, blinding pain streaking through her. For a moment she saw stars and sagged against Wesker's restraining arm, struggling to breathe. When she was able to see clearly again, Chris stood barely ten feet away, staring not at her but -- of course -- Wesker. Behind him, Jill, Barry, and Leon drew closer. Claire couldn't help noticing that Leon's _was_ staring at her. He caught her eye and gave her a reassuring nod.

Claire wished she could be reassured. But she didn't see how they'd escape this situation.

"Wesker," Chris growled. "I thought you weren't going to show."

"I'm sorry, Chris, have you been waiting? And Barry! Still keeping your family in hiding, then? Probably a wise decision. You never know when I'll make a stop in Boston."

The blood drained from Barry's face and his big hands clenched into fists. "You stay away from my..."

"Your family, yes, yes. Honestly. Do you and Chris stay up at night researching cliches, or are these spontaneous performances for my amusement?"

Claire wished he would shut the hell up. She struggled against him, knowing it was useless but unable to resist the instinct. Wesker jerked her back, sending her into another round of coughing.

"Let her go," Chris growled. "You said you'd let her go if I showed up; well, I'm here."

"I believe I also said something about your little back-up crew." Wesker glanced at his watch. "As much as I'd like to kill you now, I really don't have time before the lab beneath us explodes. And I want to take my time, Chris. Killing you will be one of the few real pleasures left to me." He spun Claire in his arms. She jerked back instinctively, but he only smiled. "I'm sorry, dear heart -- my route of escape is open only to me. For now you'll have to go with your brother. But never fear -- I will be back very soon." He glanced at Chris over her head and added, "_very_ soon."

And then he shoved her. Before she even hit the ground, he was gone.

Instantly they surrounded her, Chris hoisting her in his arms like she was a child. "Put me down!" she snapped irritably. "We have to get out of here! You heard him; the lab's going to blow."

"You're all right? You can walk?"

"Chris, you just saw me running! Come _on_! Let's _go_!"

Reluctantly, he set her down; Jill grabbed his hand and jerked him in the direction of the plane. Leon took Claire's elbow as they ran, not at all patronizing, only helpful and worried and kind. As they scrambled onto the plane, the first tremors made the ground shudder. "Buckle in!" Barry shouted. Claire lunged for a seat, but Barry already had the plane moving; Leon caught her arm and hauled her up beside him.

As they shot into the air, a burst of flames shot out of the ground, trying to engulf them. Instinctively Claire ducked her head. The plane shook like some ride in a carnival from hell, and she cried out in spite of herself. But then they were through it, and only gravity held her tightly against her seat as the plane skyrocketed into the clouds.

Hands trembling, Claire fastened her seatbelt. She didn't meet her brother's eyes, nor anyone else's.

What had Wesker said? I'll be back... very soon.

"My God," she whispered out loud.

Leon slumped back beside her. "My sentiments exactly."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Deferral

Since he no longer had a plane to stalk, Chris was pacing his own living room. Claire slumped on the couch, gratefully munching on an apple, her first non-protein food in several days. Leon sat beside her, close but not too close. He'd tried to move closer and Chris had snarled at him, actually _snarled_. Any other time Claire would have told him off, but like everyone else, she was wary of her big brother when he was in a mood like this. Better to let him pace it off.

Except that he didn't seem to be calming. If anything, he was growing more agitated, coming up with increasingly ludicrous ideas. "A cellar!" he exploded, jabbing his finger in Claire's direction. "That's what we need. No, not a cellar -- more like a bomb shelter." His eyes started to glaze over. "With dogs. Even better -- _zombie_ dogs. No -- no, I've got it! We'll get the bomb shelter, but we'll build it on an island. And we'll infect the entire _island_ with the T-virus, and then as long as we never come out of the shelter, we should be perfectly safe."

Claire blinked at him, hoping he wasn't serious. It was hard to tell with Chris. "Okay, just so one thing's clear -- I'm not spending any time in a cellar or a bomb shelter, much less one on an infected island." She met Jill's eyes across the room and for the first time shared a moment of something other than antagonism with the older woman.

"Chris," Jill said gently from her perch on the arm of Barry's chair, "why don't you sit down? Maybe a cup of coffee?"

_And a valium,_ Claire added silently. But Chris turned to Jill and she had her chance; moving as softly as possible, she got to her feet and tiptoed into the kitchen.

Leon followed, as she'd half known he would. "Chris' ranting aside, you all right?" he asked, almost off-handedly.

She smothered a smile. That was his way, always treating things casually. The more important, the more casual. His apparent lack of concern touched her. "I'm fine. A bit bruised, a bit tired. A bit scared that Wesker really will be back."

"I'm sure he will. He wants Chris."

Claire cleared her throat. "Actually... He may want more than Chris." Before Leon's horrified eyes, she reached into her pocket and produced a vial of blood.

"Claire, what the hell is that?"

"It's blood."

"I know it's blood; whose blood is it?" He was almost shouting; quickly, he checked himself with a glance in the direction of the living room.

Claire perched on the counter and turned the vial in her hands. "It belonged to a friend of mine," she said softly. "Steve Burnside."

"Wait -- the kid from the island?"

"Yeah. Wesker used him for some sort of sick experiments. Steve himself..." She swallowed hard, angling her face away. "Steve died in that explosion in the desert. I don't know. If you believe Wesker, he was dead long before that. I couldn't save him, and I'm not sure I wanted to. It must have been a terrible way to live." She wiggled the vial between her thumb and forefinger. "This is all that's left of him and the virus he was infected with. I slipped it out of Wesker's pocket when he was choking me back there. He was so intent on Chris he didn't notice."

"Claire, you're crazy. What are you going to do with that?"

Her face hardened. "I'm going to get rid of it. Steve might be dead, but I can protect what's left of him. Wesker's not getting his hands on my friends -- any part of my friends."

She tipped the vial as if to pour it in the sink, but Leon arrested the action by snagging her wrist. "Um, let's not pour the terrifying and infectious virus into the sewer, okay?"

Claire blanched at what she'd almost done. "Oh, God, Leon -- I'm sorry."

"You're exhausted." He gently touched the side of her head. Without meaning to, she tilted her cheek into his hand. "Come on. I know just the place."

"Claire!" Chris shouted behind them. Ignoring Jill's attempts to get in his way, he charged through the kitchen door, panic driving him. "Where the hell is she?"

"Wesker doesn't have her," Barry replied dryly. He was standing behind him, one arm around Jill as if to protect her from their friend's increasing agitation. "Leon does. Which, all things considered, is a damn good thing. Chris, you'd better get some rest before you lose it completely."

"Leon," Chris muttered, sinking into a chair. "Great."

All things considered, he thought he might have prefered Wesker after all.

-----

The bonfire was highly illegal, but they'd driven far enough out of town that no one would notice, let alone care. "Let them call the police," Leon had joked, sprinkling the massive pile of dry wood and leaves liberally with lighter fluid. "We'll explain exactly what we're doing."

They'd waited until the bonfire was raging to toss Steve's blood, vial and all, into its midst. Standing as close as she could to the intense heat, Claire felt tears trickle down her cheeks. "This is really goodbye," she whispered, and Leon's arm closed around her, drawing her close. She loved the feel of it. Somehow Leon always managed to make her feel safe without smothering her. Chris, on the other hand, was never happy unless she was directly underfoot. If he'd had his way, she'd still have a babysitter. It was the downside of growing up without parents, she supposed, and she loved Chris more than anyone could imagine. Still, he irritated the hell out of her.

Leon pulled her closer and sank to the cold grass, drawing her with him. "Wesker won't like this."

"Good." Claire leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, letting both Leon's warmth and the fire's enclose her in welcome, numbing heat. The opposite of Wesker's hole, which she would always remember as cold... and lonely, so, so lonely. "I don't think he's happy," she whispered through a yawn.

"Wesker, you mean?"

But Claire didn't answer. Leon glanced down and found her asleep, her fingers curled against his denim-clad thigh. He shifted her and lay down, pillowing her head against his chest, idly stroking her hair. He couldn't imagine why Claire would care about whether Wesker was happy or not. She couldn't have meant him -- Steve, maybe? Or Chris.

Leon, for his part, didn't care about any of them. Everything that mattered to him was lying in his arms, and he was damned if he was going to let Wesker steal it again.

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Author's note: That's it for Wavering. Watch for the sequel coming soon, though! I just wanted to take a minute to thank everyone who's been kind enough to leave me a review, and everyone who's read my story. If you haven't checked out my website(s) please do (see my profile for more info). I loved writing this story and can't wait to get going on the next! Thanks again to everyone!


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